Fate
by somethingborrowed3
Summary: McGonagall convinces Dumbledore that Harry Potter is better off growing up under Snape's protection and guardianship. The consequences were not quite what she expected. AU, no slash.


**Despite the AU nature of this fic, I copied some text from the crucial Dumbledore/McGonagall conversation from _The Philosopher's Stone_. I wanted it to be as close to canon as possible until the pivotal moment. So please, forgive me.**

**This is a little idea I've been toying around with since the emergence of all these fics about Snape raising Harry since the release of the last movie, so this is essentially a response to those fics, pointing out a little flaw in the plot. Anyway, enjoy the story!**

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><p>It was a happy day and wizards and witches up and down the British Isles were celebrating like there wasn't a care in the world. All thoughts of secrecy were tossed aside as magical folk set to the streets en masse to suck in a breathe of fresh, free air. Parties were held on every block and Dedalus Diggle set off a pack of magical fireworks at a particularly rowdy one.<p>

Owls had been flying in every direction since dawn as people flocked to determine the well-being of close friends and relatives. And there were outrageous dancing in the streets, firewhisky-induced public drunkenness, and several perturbed and rather confused muggles.

But Albus Dumbledore was not celebrating. In fact, he was currently sitting behind his desk in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, twiddling his wand between his fingers and staring at a set of objects on his desk. One was an invisibility cloak that had been James'. Another was a sealed letter that Lily had written to Severus Snape a week prior to her death.

Dumbledore was in deep thought. It had been a few hours since the celebrations broke out, signaling the end to Voldemort's iron-firm grip on power. It had happened that previous night, when Voldemort showed up at the Potter's residence in Godric's Hollow and murdered Lily and James Potter. But when he raised his wand to do the same to little Harry, the curse backfired and rebounded on the caster instead.

Much of the night had been a big mystery. But Dumbledore was going to take a guess about what happened. Many people who study the effects of the Killing Curse are only taught two things: that it leaves no external or internal physical marks whatsoever, and that it is completely unblockable.

But Dumbledore knew otherwise. In preparation for his famous duel with the Dark Wziard Grindelwald in the forties, he had specifically tried to find ways to negate the effects of the Killing Curse. His research surprised him, for history had a list of wizards, witches, and muggles who had survived a Killing Curse. The results of his studies had left him with a life-long impression on the importance of love, a magic he was certain that the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries hadn't even a clue the power of.

Love. It had to be the effects of Sacrificial Protection that had shielded young Harry from Voldemort that night. If his version of events were true, then Lily Potter had been offered a chance to step aside (at the urging of Severus) but had refused. Her refusal had prompted Voldemort to kill Lily – her sacrifice leaving a powerful magical protection on the boy that Voldemort couldn't overcome.

And still that magical protection ran in the veins of Petunia Dursley, the last remaining surviving relative of Harry's. So _that_, Dumbledore had determined, was where Harry was going to grow up. Under the tutelage of muggles, muggles who could offer Harry protection.

Unlike the buffoons who were making absolute rackets outside, Dumbledore knew better than to foolishly believe Voldemort was gone for good. No, Voldemort's appearance was not the result of intentional transfiguration, as much of the wizarding populace believed. It was something else, a dark magic that Dumbledore couldn't yet place, something that must have kept a part of Voldemort's soul latched to the mortal world.

So young Harry wasn't safe. He needed the protection that Petunia Dursley offered. And willingly or not, she was going to give it. Albus Dumbledore pulled out a sheet of parchment and began writing a letter.

That night Albus Dumbledore apparated to the end of Privet Drive, carrying his letter safely within his long purple robes. He had settled on wearing a long cloak and a pointed blue hat, matched with a silver buckled-belt and pointy high-heeled boots. Dumbledore hoped that his attire wouldn't attract too much attention.

Nonetheless, he pulled out his deluminator and clicked it. Again and again, every time he clicked the deluminator, a light from the nearby street lights would go out. All that remained once he was done were the two tiny pinpricks in the distance. The eyes of a tabby cat.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

Dumbledore smiled at the cat, which had transformed itself into a fully grown witch. She was wearing a flowing emerald cloak that matched Dumbledore's, and on her eyes rested a pair of square glasses that matched the markings on the cat.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, ruffled.

"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she replied impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

At this, she cast a glaring look at Dumbledore, hoping he would reveal his secrets, answer something that she had been thinking about all day. Dumbledore didn't, for he was too busy sifting through the insides of his robes, looking for something. So she continued, "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so. We have much to be thankful for," said Dumbledore, smiling. He seemed to have found what he was looking for: a small, yellow plastic bag that muggles packaged their sweets in. "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone–"

And the conversation had continued, leading to Dumbledore's oft-mentioned speech about the importance of speaking Voldemort's true name, much to McGonagall's pride, but annoyance. But the conversation soon shifted the topic that she had wanted to discuss all night, the reason why she sat on the brick wall at Number 4 Privet Drive all day.

"The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" McGonagall spoke in a hushed whisper, glancing around as if scared You-Know-Who would pop out of the bushes and–

But Dumbledore didn't respond. He had a lemon drop in each hand and seemed to be busy deciding which one to eat first.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead."

Dumbledore said nothing, but bowed his head in acquiescence. McGonagall gasped. The meaning was clear.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

The pair stood there for a while, a calm gust of wind blowing in from the north and blowing their cloaks in the opposite direction. Dumbledore placed a comforting arm on McGonagall.

"Hagrid's late," he observed. "I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way u p the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here! "

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated McGonagall faintly. She had half a mind to explain to Dumbledore how famous Harry would be, how the muggles at number four wouldn't treat him with the respect he deserved, to repeat her tirade over the parental ineptitude the Dursleys showed. But she knew none of that would sway Dumbledore.

So McGonagall made a swift decision, one that would change the entire course of mankind. "W-we could let Severus raise him," she said, almost instantly regretting it as the words rolled off the tip of her tongue. "I know you're concerned for the boy's well-being, Albus, but–"

Dumbledore had stilled, almost not noticing the arrival of a loud rumbling flying motorcycle ridden by Hagrid and carrying Harry Potter as a passenger.

"Professors," Hagrid nodded at McGonagall and Dumbledore, before lifting baby Harry carefully and clambering off the motorcycle.

"Where did you get that?" McGonagall asked incredulously.

"Borrowed it," Hagrid replied. "Got it off young Sirius Black just as I was leaving the cottage." At this moment, large tears began rolling out of Hagrid's eyes and his large frame began shuddering, threatening to wake the baby in his arms.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles – "

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm .

"No," Dumbledore whispered, his eyes gingerly examining the sleeping baby. A flash of emotion flitted through his eyes, and McGonagall identified it as pain? Guilt? But Dumbledore's thoughts returned to the sealed letter sitting on his desk, a letter meant for Snape but misdirected to him.

"You're right Minerva," Dumbledore said gingerly. "The boy's better off with Severus. He's an able enough wizard to protect Harry."

McGonagall's eyes widened in shock and Hagrid smiled widely. And so, it was that young Harry was dropped off at Spinner's End and grew up under the tutelage and protection of one Severus Snape.

Unfortunately for all involved, Severus was not a powerful enough to defend against the onslaught of revenge-seeking former Death Eaters. And as Harry was not under the guardianship of Sacrificial Protection as he would have been at Privet Drive, he was killed a day before his fifth birthday.

And without Harry alive to fulfill Trelawny's prophecy, Britain fell once again under the tyrannical grasp of an evil Lord Voldemort.

**The End**

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><p><strong>Please don't kill me. Review!<strong>


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